


Suits You Better

by ActualHurry



Category: Destiny (Video Games)
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, reverse striptease
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-27
Updated: 2019-12-27
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:06:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,679
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21984136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ActualHurry/pseuds/ActualHurry
Summary: Drifter thinks Shin will make a better Invader than Sentry. Shin takes some convincing.(Original concept by tanyart, borrowed by me.)
Relationships: The Drifter/Shin Malphur
Comments: 2
Kudos: 99





	Suits You Better

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tanyart](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tanyart/gifts).



> So this fic was originally a WIP by tanyart @ AO3, and I requested finishing it, or she offered, I don't remember. ANYWAY, I stole it. But with permission. And now I've written this! Yay!

Drifter’s real observant. He’s a details first sorta person, eyes wide open for the big picture so far as it concerns him, but mostly attentive to the little things. The exact length of a barrel to make a shot go _pow_ or _bang_. The right way to say something that’ll turn a useful head his way. The fashion habits of a certain legendary Gunslinger.

When Shin’s playing it all down, his identity or the skeletons he’s shoved deep in his closet, he sports the usual Hunter gear. Matte visor, no lights on the filter, best for scouting; his vest and sweeping cloak cover up the metallic shine of his gear – and altogether he stays lightly armored, besides that. A cannon on his hip, one that draws no attention, and if you didn’t look twice, you’d pin him as any other Hunter.

Then there’s the times Drifter catches him freshly returned from a rout against the Darkness, or whatever it is he does when he’s not passed out in Drifter’s bed or doing his damnedest to be a pest. Most of those times, he’s got a more shapely look going for him, a real striking silhouette. Lots of reds, lots of browns. It’s then that he looks the most like the Man with the Golden Gun outta Drifter’s daydreams and nightmares, and it’s those times that Drifter eyes his hands a little more closely, as if when Shin peels off those leather gloves of his, his touch may just set Drifter on fire, too.

And sometimes, Shin’s cloak is black and ragged like a torn-up shadow, but Drifter doesn’t ask why or what or how come. In those moments, Shin’s seeking him out for a distraction, and Drifter gives it to him.

So the fact that Shin Malphur wears his goddamn custom-tailored gear like it’s nothing special is just a mite frustrating. Troubling. _Worrisome_ , even. 

Drifter’s got a chair pulled up on the top of his catwalk overlooking the transmat spots, his feet propped atop the railing. He watches Shin down below. As usual, the other players have already up and left, and Shin’s waiting on Drifter’s call, stay or go, another match or break. Shin’s still got the Sentry armor on, but it glows like an afterthought, not like the vicious, caution-like yellow that Drifter wants. When Shin pulls that helmet off, Drifter narrows his eyes at him. He doesn’t look one bit like he single-handedly carried his Gambit team to victory, not one bit. And that’s frustrating, too. 

“How’d I do?” Shin asks. 

“Like you need to hear it,” Drifter says, sharp. “Quit fishin’.” He kicks his feet down and stands up, then points at Shin. “You busy now?” 

“Am I busy?” Shin echoes, then cocks his head. “For…?” 

That hopeful note makes Drifter roll his eyes. He grunts and waves scornfully through the air at Shin, turning on his heel. “Got you a present!” Drifter shouts over his shoulder with a lip curl, a little snark, but he’s pretty sure he hears Shin laugh before that tail end of the transmat flickers out. 

_Frustrating._

It makes no damn sense, Drifter thinks, kicking through snow and crunching over ice as he makes it to his cot-and-things. He digs through the worktable’s drawer – mods, gun parts, something of Shin’s, ammo synths, strips of fabric he doesn’t recognize, more of Shin’s junk, coins, coins, coins…

So Shin’s not getting a kick out of hunting in his home turf? Fine. Maybe he pegged him as Sentry a little too soon. Maybe the man wants to roam instead of defend. Maybe Drifter’s gonna get him wild and reckless in Prime if he has to make and remake a whole new armor set three times over, because Shin Malphur’s not going to treat his _craftsmanship_ like he treats every other role he wears.

Drifter finally pulls out a handful of Invader Synths, closing them in his fist.

Maybe Shin would look better in red.

Shin’s sitting on the small table, cross-legged and languid, when Drifter appears in the Annex. He’s got the Cabal helmet in his lap, all the Gambit coins Drifter’s usually flicking through the air lined up in neat stacks next to him. 

“Took you long enough,” says Shin. He’s already changed out of the Sentry gear and back into something less loud; Drifter’s offended about it all over again, which is just as inexplicable as it is irritating.

Drifter grunts and shoves his armful of gear at Shin. “Try this on.” 

Shin looks at the black chestpiece, then back at Drifter. “This the present you’re giving me?” 

Drifter waves his hands at him, brusque, eager. “Try it on,” he insists. “Gotta make sure your measurements work out right. Would hate for you to pop a stitch.” 

Shin shrugs. The chestpiece in his arms disappears in shimmering transmat, replacing the nonchalant layers-and-vest look with the first piece in the Invader set. Shin glances down at his new pattern, the red reflected in his dark eyes. Drifter bites down on a shiver.

Already, Drifter’s sure he’s made the right pick this time. He has his Ghost send the rest of the armor pieces to Shin’s inventory but before Shin gets the chance to equip anything more, Drifter’s slides his hands down Shin’s chest, catching his fingers on the scarlet scales.

It’s good. It’s _right_. 

“You want me invading?” Shin prompts, pointed about it, though his eyes follow Drifter closely.

“What, you ain’t feelin’ it?” Drifter replies, sly now that he’s got the hook of the idea in Shin’s head. “Why not? You’re a real menace when you wanna be, right?” He settles his hands onto Shin’s chest and waits there before he dips knuckle-deep under the belt, then yanks until Shin’s flush with him.

Drifter checks the detailing on the shoulders while he’s got him this close. “Think about it,” he adds, low. “C’mon, Malphur. Sentry’s not really your style now, is it?” 

In that silence, the fear tickles between Drifter’s ribs. He knows what he’s saying is right, and judging by the strange, quirked expression on Shin’s face, Shin knows it just as well. Shin’s a Hunter and a _hunter_ , too. He’s the predator here, not the prey who just so happens to be waiting with a pretty gun and a better eye for the killing shot. 

“Nah, nah,” Drifter goes on in a murmur, watching the red gauntlets replace the yellow, the snake unfurling in pieces. “This’ll work better.” 

He runs a curious touch over either of Shin’s shoulders, feeling out the resiliency of the armor. Then Drifter lets go just as fast, circling Shin like a vulture, leisurely taking Shin’s wrist and folding Shin’s arm behind his back to test the give…both of his handiwork, and what Shin will allow.

“Put the rest on,” Drifter says invitingly against the nape of Shin’s neck, his breath stirring Shin’s hair. There’s a beat of silence, Drifter releases his arm, and then the dark cloak shimmers down his back, all the way to the floor.

It’ll make for a killer’s silhouette, for sure. Maybe Drifter always had Shin in mind when he’d been crafting this armor, somehow. The hood rests around his shoulders. Drifter throws it over Shin’s head so he can trace the crimson all the way to the end with his free hand, fingers digging first into the meat of the armor at Shin’s back, and then up and up more gently, where the snake coils around the hood. Shin doesn’t make a sound, but Drifter feels him lean his head into the touch, watches Shin shift his weight.

The red scales already glow a little more on Shin, as cunning as they are mercilessly vibrant. A warning, a sign to exercise some caution. Like the gear knows the man’s capabilities and then some.

Drifter bites back another shiver, then drops both his hands down to Shin’s hips.

“How’s the measurements?” Shin says, low.

“Comin’ along,” Drifter says, cheerful enough.

He grips Shin’s waist a little bit tighter, kneading at him. The armor’s lighter here, thinner than the reinforced wire criss-crossing through the rest of it. Shin tips backwards ‘til his back’s flush with Drifter’s front, and in quiet interest, Drifter hooks his chin over Shin’s shoulder.

Shin really had gone and put the rest on. Now that Drifter can see, it’s not _really_ that Shin was speaking softly, though it’s that, too – it’s the helmet that muffled him, the helmet that’s angling slightly to meet his curious look, the wide-open bite pattern on the cloth mask looking ready to clamp down on him. The red fangs could drip venom any second now. Drifter prides himself on that first, then reaches one hand up under Shin’s arm to tug at the bandana that goes ‘round the helmet itself.

It doesn’t budge. When Drifter lets go, Shin drops his head back to rest against Drifter’s shoulder.

“I’m still not convinced,” Shin murmurs, the damn liar.

“Alright,” Drifter says, easy about it, and then he drops his hands off of Shin’s hips to pace around to the front of him again.

Shin waits, too patiently and too appeased for Drifter’s tastes. That Invader red screams _violence_ , sure, he knows what he made this armor for, knows the kinda desire that it bleeds into Guardians. But the way Shin cocks his head at him, the way that hood falls a little uneven over his head? 

The way he crosses one ankle over another, taps his boot against the floor, hooks his thumb into a belt at his waist?

Shin’s more than just content. He’s _comfortable_.

“Not convinced, he says,” Drifter muses.

He takes a step closer, then another, ‘til Shin’s resting the curve of his back against that table. Shin rolls his shoulders and puts a hand on Drifter’s waist, but Drifter swats him off, so he braces his hands along the edge of the table instead. There’s interest in the tightened grip there, Drifter sees it, oh, Drifter _knows_ it.

“You can feel it, right?” Drifter says, unhurriedly stepping over one of Shin’s legs, his hips nearly flush with Shin’s. Shin grips the table tighter and stays silent. “That armor. It was made with you in mind. You think it’s enough just to be hungry for the other team?”

Drifter takes Shin’s waist again, slowly undoing his belts as he goes on, “Ha. No, _no_ , sir.” He leans in to grin nose-to-nose at the open maw of the bandana, baring his teeth right back at it. “You gotta be _starvin’_ for it.” 

Shin twitches when Drifter tugs his first belt off, the tilt of his head telegraphing his glance to the table when Drifter sets both belts down. “Keep talking,” Shin says, voice modulating slightly through the helmet.

Drifter laughs like it’s a side-note, already sinking his fingers under Shin’s pants, seeking out the heat of his skin. “Don’t hear any denials, do I?” Drifter mocks, then leans in to nose at the side of Shin’s neck, pushing the hood off in the process. “Mm. Yeah. There’s power waitin’ in this armor. Just gotta make a grab for it. You thinkin’ about it?”

“…I think this is one hell of a sales pitch,” Shin breathes eventually, once Drifter’s started nudging his thigh against his crotch. 

“You’re a tough crowd,” Drifter replies solemnly, moving his leg between Shin’s again, and Shin parts his knees entirely for him. Smiling, Drifter leans back but with his free hand, he pulls Shin towards him by the cloak. “That helmet’s decked out to the nines. Precision targeting. And your killer cloak’s got mobility mods in it. Just for you.” 

Drifter slides his hand over to Shin’s shoulder, gripping the single pauldron, digging his fingers into the hard surface of it, the rough texture of the scales, gleaming red back at him. 

“Then, these babies,” Drifter goes on, hushed now like a secret. “Hand cannon reload speed. You’re the fastest draw the world’s ever seen, but what about when you blow all those shots of yours and you’re still itchin’ for more?” 

Shin’s helmet follows him like Drifter’s got him in some orbit, helpless but to keep watching, and Drifter feels nervous energy at his spine like he’s spilled some radiolaria on himself. He sinks down to the floor before he can think too hard about it.

Drifter drags his palms over Shin’s thighs, hooking his fingers into the top of his pants to work them down. “And traction. I know you’re all about keepin’ moving.” 

He can see Shin tense up when he leans in. “Oh, yeah,” Drifter murmurs, hanging back just a moment. “And a couple scavenger mods, since –” 

“ _Alright_ ,” Shin says, urgent. Drifter glances up, sees Shin’s tight grip on the table. “I take it back. Stop talking.” 

Drifter grins and thinks, _checkmate_. 

There’s a part of him reassured that the skin bared beneath Shin’s Invader armor is as familiar as always. The same vee of his hip bones, the same curve of his thigh leading down. Drifter doesn’t know why he feels the warm relief in his gut, doesn’t know what he expected to see instead. A nightmare of his own making, maybe.

Drifter takes Shin’s cock into his mouth, licking a long line up first to catch the drip of precome that’s already gone and formed at the tip of him, wet and salty. Drifter tugs the pants down to Shin’s knees ‘til the glowing crimson snake’s all bunched up with the rest of the material. He presses his tongue against him as he moves his mouth down on him more and more, keeps his eyes half-lidded and his hands holding Shin’s thighs to keep him still. 

It’s only when he’s got a good rhythm going that he feels the touch at the back of his head, the cool leather of the Invader glove nudging him further down onto Shin’s cock. Drifter glances up at Shin’s face, his gaze meeting the scarlet fangs instead, and the reflexive swallow around Shin’s cock is enough that Shin shudders, dropping his head back with a small stutter of his breath.

Drifter closes his eyes then and laves his tongue down Shin’s length and all the way back up, lapping at the head and sucking, up, down, up, lips circled ‘round him. Shin grips his hair and Drifter huffs through his nostrils, shifting his position enough to grind himself against the leather of Shin’s gaiters. It’s a lazy indulgence, and halfway (not completely) meant to make Shin unravel.

Drifter can feel the thickness of his cock in his mouth, the way he transfers his weight foot-to-foot like that’ll bring him relief. But it’s not until Drifter peels off his glove and starts stroking Shin in tandem with the motions of his mouth that Shin tenses up in that telltale sorta way. Drifter chases that tension, matches the quickened pace of Shin’s breath with his mouth, with his hand.

Shin can’t last much longer, hips stuttering against Drifter’s mouth, grabbing at him. Shin’s knocked his headband all wrong, and if that ain’t just the grandest compliment. He feels the hot weight on his tongue, feels Shin’s muscles all snap to tightness, and—

With Shin’s final gasp ringing in the Annex’s space, Drifter swallows down the tacky mess with a small noise of his own. He licks him clean from base to tip, then moves into a kneel while he pulls Shin’s clothes back into order, doing him up again.

Shin’s chest is still rising and falling too quick when Drifter loops both belts in place. Satisfied, Drifter pats Shin’s hip and stands up with a little grunt, fixing his headband while he’s thinking about it.

“Well,” Drifter starts, clearing his throat, licking his lips. “What d’you say? Feelin’ some killing intent?” 

Shin flexes his fingers, then takes a long, deep breath. He reaches, grabs the front of Drifter’s robes and reels him in.

“Intent, sure,” Shin says. The helmet disappears in a flicker. “Not the killin’ kind.”

“Damn shame,” Drifter breathes, and he grins into Shin’s kiss.

**Author's Note:**

> \- One line was nearly completely unedited from Tanya's original piece: _Maybe Shin would look better in red._ I couldn't bear to go on without it, so I kept it in.  
> \- I want whoever is going to try and correct me on spats vs gaiters to know that I only wanted Drifter rubbing one off on Shin's leg regardless of the technical term, so I would not like to be corrected. Let me continue to be stupid. Thanks.
> 
> Thank you for reading :D


End file.
